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164
Glaucus; Or, The Wonders of the Shore
·
Charles Kingsley
28
You
go
down
to
any
shore
after
a
gale
of
wind,
and
pick
up
a
few
delicate
little
sea-ferns.
You
have
two
in
your
hand,
which
probably
look
to
you,
even
under
a
good
pocket
magnifier,
identical
or
nearly
so.
{37}
But
you
are
told
to
your
surprise,
that
however
like
the
dead
horny
polypidoms
which
you
hold
may
be,
the
two
species
of
animal
which
have
formed
them
are
at
least
as
far
apart
in
the
scale
of
creation
as
a
quadruped
is
from
a
fish.
You
see
in
some
Musselburgh
dredger’s
boat
the
phosphorescent
sea-pen
(unknown
in
England),
a
living
feather,
of
the
look
and
consistency
of
a
cock’s
comb;
or
the
still
stranger
sea-rush
(Virgularia
mirabilis),
a
spine
a
foot
long,
with
hundreds
of
rosy
flowerets
arranged
in
half-rings
round
it
from
end
to
end;
and
you
are
told
that
these
are
the
congeners
of
the
great
stony
Venus’s
fan
which
hangs
in
seamen’s
cottages,
brought
home
from
the
West
Indies.
And
ere
you
have
done
wondering,
you
hear
that
all
three
are
congeners
of
the
ugly,
shapeless,
white
“dead
man’s
hand,”
which
you
may
pick
up
after
a
storm
on
any
shore.
You
have
a
beautiful
madrepore
or
brain-stone
on
your
mantel-piece,
brought
home
from
some
Pacific
coral-reef.
You
are
to
believe
that
its
first
cousins
are
the
soft,
slimy
sea-anemones
which
you
see
expanding
their
living
flowers
in
every
rock-pool—
bags
of
sea-water,
without
a
trace
of
bone
or
stone.
You
must
believe
it;
for
in
science,
as
in
higher
matters,
he
who
will
walk
surely,
must
“walk
by
faith
and
not
by
sight.”
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